Page 11 of The Lottery

“But you started doing all that after the world was burning.”

Robert nods again. I’ll credit him some self-awareness. Hopefully that’ll be a trait that shines in our children once the baby-making starts.

I shudder at the thought, then get up from the bed, not wanting my mind to wander too far into what’s invariably to come. It doesn’t have much to do with Robert, and more with the fact that I’ve got no choice other than Robert.

It certainly has nothing to do with how my body responded to the wrong billionaire not too long ago.

Hopefully we can linger in the “getting to know you” phase a few extra days or years.

I test my ankle as I pace the room, stretching my body to see how bad my injuries are. It still hurts too much to stand on both feet for long, and I’m sure my shoulder will need a few days in a sling. Nothing feels too serious, fortunately, and the bump of the back of my head is going down a bit. That’s promising.

“Hindsight’s 20-20,” I say matter-of-factly. I don’t really mean it though. Any idiot with eyes could tell things needed to change ages ago. The problem was never a lack of foresight. It was always a lack of effort.

“I guess I thought there might be some redemption in this project,” Robert says.

He stands and moves to the corner of the room and opens a panel I didn’t notice when I took my initial scan of the suite. Inside is a fully stocked bar, storing various liquors and glasses. Of course they made sure the billionaires get their fancy drinks in space. He pours amber liquid into a crystal tumbler and offers it to me.

I accept it carefully, holding it gingerly between my bandaged hands—a drink sounds really good right about now—and sit back on the bed, trying not to groan as my body protests the movement. I’m probably pretty bruised up, though I haven’t had a chance to see the damage for myself.

I sniff at my drink, finding the aroma musty with a hint of spice. I take a sip, letting it burn down my throat and dull my pain—and my thoughts.

Robert pours himself a glass then returns to the bed. There’s a black leather loveseat and two chairs situated around a coffee table in the middle of the room, but we have a better view of the screen from the bed.

Our suite is very modern. Bright white walls, sleek grayscale furniture, silver framed art pieces--all bold colors and geometric shapes. But there are no books. No comforts. No history. I think back to the cottage I was raised in with my grandmother. The white trim and butter yellow walls. The knick-knacks and treasures tucked into the built-in shelving, with books piled everywhere.

I sigh, pushing aside memories of the past to focus on Robert.

He nurses his drink as he speaks. “I gave Marek every penny I had about five years ago and started overseeing the terraform development.”

“So you know what our new home… what it looks like?” Angry as I am about where we’re headed, I’m still insanely curious. I take another sip of the whiskey. It’s smooth and rich. No doubt pricey.

“Only from schematics.” Robert swirls the amber liquid in his glass mindlessly. “I don’t know much about what Marek and his team have done on the planet’s surface, he kept that part under wraps, but I helped work out the structural blueprints.”

“So he’s keeping stuff secret? Like, are we all flying blindly to this planet and only one person knows what’s going to happen?” We were given precious little information about what to expect. Everything about this is, naturally, unprecedented in human history. We are largely making it up as we go along, but I still would have liked to know something—anything—about what we’re flying into.

“No, nothing like that,” Robert says defensively, sensing my anxiety. “He’s kind of a private guy to begin with, from what I gather. I just met him today, other than that it was all emails and bank transfers. But all my sources agreed the technology on the ground is brilliant. He probably wouldn’t know how to explain it to anyone, and I bet he doesn’t want anyone else trying to replicate it and steal his idea.”

There it is. With Earth turning into a lump of charcoal and humanity’s only chance of survival being an escape to Mars, Marek Volkav—this egotistical dirtbag—is still worried about someone stealing his proprietary rights. I swear to God, fuck billionaires.

I want to scream and throttle the guy, but I also want to know so much more. How brilliant is this tech? Who’d he steal the great ideas from? No one can be that good looking and a genius. I hate that I’m so intrigued by this man. His name used to make me want to wretch, now it’s having a very different kind of visceral effect on my body. I squeeze my thighs together and take a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of the confusing, sexy billionaire out of my mind. I turn back to the screen, Earth now hundreds of miles away as we barrel smoothly into the upper stratosphere. My heart constricts, and tears pool in my eyes as I soak up the last images I’ll ever have of home. “I don’t think there’s any redemption for what we’ve done,” I whisper. “Let’s just hope we figure out a way to treat the next planet a little better.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Robert says, and we clink our glasses together and drink a last goodbye to Earth.

We’re quiet for a moment, then he stands to refill both of our glasses. “Crossing my fingers we don’t run into any little green men.”

His words strike a chord and I bite the inside of my cheek. Not that I’m worried about little green men. Even if we don’t run into freaky, tentacled aliens, that doesn’t mean there aren’t serious risks to… you know… moving to a whole new freaking planet. I’ve spent my life with my hands in the earth—the actual dirt that makes up what we humans understand as Earth. It’s amazing stuff, with the power to grow and feed and nurture so much of what we use to survive. At the same time, it’s complex. Things go wrong and people don’t know how to fix it. We’re so used to trusting our eyes, it’s hard for the average person to understand what microscopic parasite is causing a crop to do this instead of that. We had thousands of years to learn about Earth soil, and we’re about to hit the ground running on Mars.

Whatever brilliant terraforming Marek has done, he hasn’t had multiple generations to watch it play out. Things are going to go wrong, and no one, no matter how rich or brilliant or gorgeous—or even genius—they are, can guarantee otherwise.

The screen in our room flicks off, signaling the end of our launch.

This is it. We are really on our way to Mars.

My heart flutters.

I let a little excitement bubble up in me. I resisted everything about this whole trip for so long that it’s hard to let myself look forward to what might be.

“Launch is initiated. You are free to move about the floor.” The disembodied voice startles me, and I look around for a moment before I remember Marek and his talking computer. Guess we’ve all got access.

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